Job To Do
by S J Smith-Evil Little Dog
Summary: Kimbley has to 'encourage' Winry to accept his offer. Mafia A.U.
1. Shake Down

**Title: **Shake Down

**Author:** S J Smith

**Rating:** teenish

**Summary: **Kimbley needs to get his point across.

**Disclaimer: ** Arakawa owns all. I just play in her sandbox.

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><p>Kimbley removed his hat as he entered the shop, the sweet chime of the bells alerting the owners someone had entered the building. It seemed quaint, as did the entire set up as he could see it. Everything sparkled, as if it was constantly cleaned within an inch of its life. Photographs were pinned to the wall behind the counter, and he stepped closer to look at them, reaching over to pluck one free.<p>

"Can I help you?" Her voice matched the sweet bells, curious and friendly.

Kimbley turned, offering her a smile. "Ah, Miss Rockbell, I presume? I'm very pleased to finally have a chance to meet you." He pressed his hat against his chest, giving her a partial bow.

The pretty blonde flushed at his words. "I'm sorry, do you have an appointment?" She pulled out a book from beneath the counter and opened it, checking through the list.

He lay his hand on the book. "No, but you'll make time to see me, Miss Rockbell. My name is Zolf Kimbley." Holding up a finger to silence her, Kimbley went on. "I knew of your parents. Very devoted, opening a clinic in Little Istanbul." Her gull wing brows swept down. "I know they were killed during the riots. I was part of the team directed to that part of the city. I was too late to reach them. I wanted to offer my apologies for that. I had greatly wanted to meet them."

"Really?" She relaxed her stance a bit, something he appreciated in an esthetic way.

"They were amazing people, from what I've heard. And you, you've followed in their footsteps." Kimbley swept his hat around the small shop. "You've devoted yourself to helping people, the same way your parents did." This, this was the part he loved the most. Building them up, letting them think he was a friend, an admirer. "But there's always a price for doing good. You could consider it 'Equivalent Exchange.'"

Her curious expression made her even more charming. "I'm sorry?"

"This is a very dangerous neighborhood, don't you think?" Kimbley walked to the windows, indicating the bars on them. "Bad things could happen here, to you, to your customers." He turned back around, facing Miss Rockbell. "You understand, don't you? You're a very intelligent girl."

"You're," her frown deepened. "You're shaking me down, aren't you? I don't need protection, Mr. Kimbley."

"Is that so? I understand you're close friends with the Elric brothers." He held up the photograph he'd taken from the wall. Her eyes widened and she came out from behind the counter, reaching for the picture. Kimbley held it just out of her reach. "Ah, ah!" He waved a finger at her. "These two boys, I know they've been through a lot. One, well, he's your best customer, isn't he? Edward Elric? The other, his brother, Alphonse, is still recovering from a debilitating illness." This, this was the best part, watching the realization flash through their eyes. "It would be a tragic thing for something to happen to Alphonse."

Miss Rockbell's fists clenched. "You wouldn't dare."

"All I'm offering is my services, Miss Rockbell, to make sure nothing untoward happens to you, or your friends, or your customers. I'll give you until Wednesday, at noon, to think about it." Kimbley handed her the photo, not surprised she snatched it from him and clutched it to her chest. Her blue eyes blazed with a righteous flame.

"Until Wednesday, Miss Rockbell." Kimbley twirled his hat in his hand, settling it on his head. He touched his brim to her and swept out of the clinic, the bells chiming a charming counterpoint. That really was the best part, seeing the indignation, and then the understanding there was nothing to do but accept his offer.


	2. Job To Do

Job To Do

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><p>The office looked as if it was stuck in the past few decades, with dark paneled walls and uncomfortable wooden furniture. The files on the desk were carefully arranged. A bookshelf showed titles ranging from scientific texts to dissertations on ancient history. A telephone sat in the upper left corner of the desk, along with a simple vase holding a white rose bud with a sprig of baby's breath. A steaming mug of coffee sat in the middle of the desk, and behind it, in the wooden chair, sat a man dressed in white, his dark hair carefully coifed into a ponytail, though two thin strands of hair framed his face.<p>

Kimbley opened the file, studying the information within. A photograph of a lovely blond girl, staring past his shoulder, was on the top of the paperwork. "Ah, Miss Rockbell." He took other photographs out as well, studying two of the people Winry Rockbell held closest to her heart – the Elric brothers. Alphonse Elric, the youngest, was pictured in his wheelchair, a cat resting in his lap, while the elder, Edward Elric, walked down the stairs outside the brownstone he and his brother resided in with the Hughes family.

Pinako Rockbell lived far enough away, in the countryside, and while Kimbley believed making a point was an important thing to do, the time spent traveling so far out of the city was wasteful. No, he'd need to strike at something, someone, Miss Rockbell cared about within the city.

He reviewed the photographs within the file again, the Elrics, Miss Rockbell, the pictures of the Hughes family, of Miss Rockbell's patron, a Mr. Garfiel, of the Curtises, who ran the butcher shop near Miss Rockbell's tiny workshop, Winry's other clients, old men, young boys, a few women, including the one-time thief, Paninya Dhiri. Knowing he had to make the perfect point to explain Miss Rockbell's predicament to her, he finally made his decision, taking one single photograph from the file. Folding the cover over the rest of the pictures and paperwork, Kimbley replaced the file in his drawer, setting the picture of Edward Elric at the top of his desk, next to his coffee cup.

Kimbley decided he'd take Envy with him on his visit to the eldest Elric brother. Envy never minded getting his hands dirty, and the notes indicated Edward was a scrapper. It would be best to have someone who could take him on, just to make sure the point was made.

Rising from his desk, Kimbley placed the remaining files in the center desk drawer, locking it closed. Whistling softly, he slipped his white jacket over his shoulders, and set his fedora on his head. Adjusting his cuffs, he opened the door, making sure to close and lock it behind him. A jaunty step carried him down the hall and out the door of the old building. He had people to see and work to do.

It was time to get on with both.


	3. Not Quite an Interrogation

**Title:** Not Quite an Interrogation

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><p>"Well, if it isn't Mr. Kimbley."<p>

He smiled into his coffee cup, turning his face to the sight of blue uniforms. "Lieutenant Mustang. Isn't it a lovely day? And Sergeants Hawkeye and Armstrong, as well. Good morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Roy Mustang sat down in the booth seat across from Kimbley, while Alex Louis Armstrong and Riza Hawkeye moved further into the diner, taking their seats at a small table that seemed further dwarfed by the sheer bulk of Sergeant Armstrong. "I understand that Father's trying to expand his territory. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Kimbley took a sip of his coffee. Really, cop diners always had the coffee and donuts. Though he didn't indulge in sweets often, he did appreciate good coffee. "Why would you be asking me, Lieutenant? Surely you don't believe I have anything to do with such a nefarious organization as the Homunculi?" He blotted his mouth with his napkin and gently shook it out again before laying it back in his lap.

"You have been seen with Joseph Green, more commonly known as 'Envy', as well as other key members of the Homunculi," Mustang said, nodding when the waitress offered him a cup of coffee. "Oh, and an order of ham and eggs; scrambled. And make sure to send over a bottle of hot sauce for the eggs."

"You've got it, Lieutenant." She warmed Kimbley's coffee and promised him his bill soon.

Kimbley spread his hands. "A man has to go where the business is, don't you agree, Lieutenant? A paying job keeps me in all the little luxuries I've become so accustomed to, like a roof over my head, and food on my table."

Mustang frowned slightly. "Just remember, Kimbley, we're keeping an eye on you." Gathering up his cup, he left the booth to rejoin Armstrong and Hawkeye.

"Anything else, sir?" The waitress reappeared at his elbow, pad in hand.

"No, thank you." He smiled at her, accepting his bill. "Oh, and I'll be paying for Lieutenant Mustang's meal, as well." Kimbley added the appropriate number of cenz to the payment. "Keep the change, my dear." Rising, he collected his hat from the rack next to the door, and slipped it on, tugging lightly at the brim as a salute to the officers.

It delighted him to see their narrowed eyes on him as he walked out of the diner. Kimbley allowed a spring in his step. He supposed he'd just have to up his game in the near future, if he was under observation. Really, it was almost a compliment, their watching him. He hadn't realized he was that big of a fish in Central City, to have had such a splash amongst the police community. It might make the Rockbell job a bit harder to accomplish, but he still had the job to do, and Kimbley always made sure to finish his jobs.

Whistling softly, he continued down the street, thinking it was really a lovely day.


	4. Cobra Versus Mongoose

**Cobra Versus Mongoose  
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><p>Envy shook his hand, his face twisted into a scowl. "You didn't say anything about that little pipsqueak knowing how to fight!"<p>

Kimbley handed Envy a handkerchief. "Please do try not to bleed all over my office," he said, "and what do you mean, he knew how to fight?"

Taking the handkerchief, Envy wrapped it around the palm of his hand. "Shit, I'll have to see someone for this...wonder if Knox can still be bribed to keep from talking to the cops."

"Envy," Kimbley said, trying to be patient.

"That fucking brat had a knife hidden up his sleeve - and he knew how to use it! Someone's taught him - he got in some good kicks. Someone called the cops - I could hear the sirens - so I had to get out of there." Envy glared at Kimbley. "Next time you send me after someone, give me some good information. Don't let me walk in there with blinders on!"

"Hmm." Kimbley opened his file on Miss Rockbell. None of his research had shown that the eldest Elric knew anything about fighting. He was supposedly a scholar, and with taking care of his sick brother, Kimbley wasn't sure how the young man had found the time to learn to fight. He made a note in the file, planning on doing more investigating on the boy. In the mean time, though, he glanced up at Envy. "Come with me. I'll drive you to Dr. Knox's. And if necessary, pay for his time. But as we go, I want you to tell me everything you remember about the Elric boy's fighting style." Every bit of knowledge was important in regard to a mark. Especially if turned out he was the one who would need to take care of the boy to get Miss Rockbell's attention.


	5. Money Problems

**Title:** Money Problems

**Author:** S J Smith

**Rating:** Teen

**Summary: **It's that time of the month, and the bills are coming due.

**Disclaimer:** Arakawa owns all.

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><p>It took Winry stepping in front of Edward and laying her hands on his shoulders to bring him back from wherever he'd drifted off to, in the courtyard of the tenement building. Even then, it was a split second before he blinked and recognized her.<p>

"Oh. Winry." He blew out, frowning. "Where'd you come from?"

"Al called me, dummy." Winry pushed his bangs off of his face. "You've been fighting again!"

Shrugging out from her hand – a smooth move that put him mostly out of her reach – Edward turned toward the courtyard, such as it was. The tiny patch was mostly dirt, hard packed, at least, but when it rained, it turned into a quagmire with all the water running off the roofs surrounding it. It barely got enough sunlight for grass to grow in a patch along one wall. Winry had heard about the tenants begging to plant gardens, but the plants would do better on the fire escapes, where the sun had a chance of hitting them, or, better yet, the roof, than in the actual yard.

"Are you okay, Ed?"

"Yeah," he said, terse as always.

Winry rolled her eyes, moving so she could push his bangs up again. Before he even had time to hiss, she probed the cut above his eyebrow. When he tried to pull away, she caught his chin, holding him in place. "Hold still! Geeze, Ed, you look like you went through the Curtis's meat grinder."

With a feral grin, Edward said, "You oughtta see the other guy."

Ignoring his attempt at being funny, Winry ran her hand down his torso, not surprised when he winced and tried to dance sideways from her touch. "Bruised ribs?"

Sullenly, Edward shrugged, but didn't move away this time. Winry felt his yellow glare on the top of her head as she pressed a little harder, hearing him hiss. It wasn't until she started to tug his shirt from the waistband of his trousers that he yipped. "Winry!" Slipping sideways, he blushed, angry and embarrassed, both.

Winry fisted her hands, planting them on her hips. "I need to see the damage, Ed!"

"Not here!" he snapped back, his face brighter red. Still, he lowered his voice. "You know Tucker just looks for a way to spread gossip." Barely touching her elbow, Edward opened the door to the tenement building to guide her inside.

It smelled like cooking cabbages and other things Winry didn't want to consider. Edward took her upstairs to his apartment, unlocking the door and ushering her through it. The curtains were thrown open and pigeons were on the windowsill, cooing and peering through the screen. "Winry!" Alphonse greeted her happily from his bed near the window, where he could look outside, his wasted face lighting up at the sight of her.

"Hi, Al!" She hurried to him, sitting on the mattress next to him and taking his cold, bony hands. "I'm so happy to see you."

"You could come more often." Alphonse tried to squeeze her hands in response but he was so weak, Winry barely felt it.

"I'm sorry. I've been working hard." It wasn't really a good excuse, and Winry knew it. She could've come after work, or even during her lunch break. "I promise I'll come more often."

"You should," Alphonse said. He leaned closer to her, whispering loud enough that Edward could hear, "Brother misses you. He gets cranky when you aren't around."

"Hey!" Openly glaring, Edward took a seat on the opposite side of the narrow bed. "I do not!"

"He's right, Al. He's cranky all the time." Winry smirked as Edward made a face, showing his teeth at her. Alphonse laughed, a breathless chuckle that made him start coughing. Edward moved before Winry could even pry her hand out of Alphonse's, gathering up a pillow and tucking it against Alphonse's chest, and getting a basin, in case the coughing escalated. Winry rubbed Alphonse's back, feeling all the bones in his ribs and spine as his body spasmed. "Easy, Al," she murmured, shooting a look over his back at Edward. The cold, worried expression in his eyes startled her, and she dropped her own gaze back to Alphonse.

After he finished coughing, Alphonse lay back in the bed, his eyes fluttering closed. Winry pulled the blankets up over his chest as Edward took the basin to toss the waste down the toilet. When he didn't come back, Winry patted Alphonse's shoulder, and got up. She found Edward standing in the bathroom. His hands clenched on the rim of the sink so tight, his knuckles whitened, and his shirt wrinkled from the tension in his shoulders.

Winry said, "He's going to be okay, Ed. Al's resting now, and he's getting better." Edward raised his head, his dark, angry eyes meeting hers in the mirror. Inhaling sharply, Winry pressed her fingers to her mouth. "Ed."

He turned around, pushing past her. "It's that time of the month, Winry. I need money – money for Al's medications, money for the rent. I've got to do something."

Winry caught hold of his arms, holding him in the doorway. "Ed." She kept her voice low, so it wouldn't disturb Alphonse. "I have some money – Granny does, too. We can help you guys. You don't have to keep doing this." She gestured toward his face, heart sinking when Edward flinched away.

"I'm not – we're not some charity case, Winry!" Edward hissed, glaring at her.

Glaring back, Winry snarled, "No, you guys are _family_," or you could be, she didn't say, "Just," her fury drained away. "Let me help, Ed. You know I can."

Edward's jaw worked then he sighed, shaking his head. "Winry," he sighed, taking her hands in his own. "I can handle this." When she opened her mouth, he shook her hands. "No. I _can_ handle this. I…I know you want to help. Thank you. But." He took a deep breath, straightening. "I know you're being pressured for money to protect your shop." At her gasp of, 'How?', Edward shook his head. "I just know, all right?"

"That's my problem, Ed," Winry said fiercely. "You are not getting involved in it." He offered a lopsided grin, making her groan in realization. "You are involved – is that how you got hurt?"

"I didn't get hurt as much as the other guy," Edward repeated, letting go of her hands, brows drawing down.

"Yeah, but," Winry sighed. "Ed, you can't get into fights with these people." At his scoff, she pressed on. "You know they'll just send someone worse next time." Edward gave her a flat look and Winry tried to keep from smacking him. "Ed. You can't fight them. Not for me. What happens if you get really hurt? Who's going to take care of Al then?"

"You. Like always."

"That's not good enough, Ed!"

"What do you want me to say, Winry? You just said it – we're family. Family sticks together."

Winry poked him in his chest. "Does that mean you're going to let me give you some money?"

"Geeze, woman!"

"Well?" She poked him again, a little harder.

"Ow! Dammit." Edward knocked her hand away when she raised it a third time. "All right. But you're not just giving me any money, I'll take a _loan_. And I'll pay you back."

"You could do work for me," Winry said tentatively but Edward rolled his eyes.

"Pass." When she glared, he said, "I'll figure out a way to pay you back, Winry. And take care of Al." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he started to nudge her out of the bathroom, but Winry took advantage and yanked his shirt out of his trousers. "Hey!"

"I said I wanted to look at your ribs, remember?" Holding his shirt out of the way, Winry traced the outline of the bruise, wincing at the sight of it. "Did he stomp on you?"

"Kicked me," Edward grumbled, trying to pull his shirt back down and gnashing his teeth when Winry wouldn't let him.

"Ed."

"I'm fine, Winry."

"Yeah, well." Winry let go of his shirt and led the way out of the bathroom. She checked on Alphonse automatically, smiling at the sunlight bathing his thin face in its warmth. She glanced over her shoulder at Edward. "Take care of him, all right?"

"'Course." Edward made it sound like she was stupid for even asking.

Smoothing a wrinkle out of the blanket, Winry turned away, heading for the door. "I'll be back later with the money."

"Thanks, Winry." Edward followed, opening the door for her.

She touched his chest lightly. "And some liniment for those bruises."

"They'll heal."

Winry met his gaze. "Don't do anything stupid."

Edward's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Do I ever?"

Scoffing, Winry turned away, heading out the door, and back to her shop. She had a phone call to make, maybe more than one. Her afternoon's work might have to be put on the back burner for a little while.


	6. Do What You're Told

**Do What You're Told  
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><p>The coffee in this particular café was practically swill, but the large, plate glass windows overlooking the street, and the proximity to Miss Rockbell's shop made stopping here something that Kimbley did on a regular basis. Besides, despite the horrible brew, the pie was more than edible.<p>

He sat at a window table, a piece of apple pie in front of him, a cup of coffee steaming off to the side along with a glass of water. He would sip the coffee in pretense, and enjoy the pie, and keep an eye on the goings-on of the street. There was Mrs. Curtis, the butcher's wife, talking to one of the shop's patrons, the older woman, perhaps with her grandson, playing at her feet. A dark-skinned girl ran by, neatly avoiding the two women and leaping over the child, a messenger satchel bouncing on her back. She shouted something over her shoulder, and waved at the women, who shook their heads, but the boy waved back to her. Farther down the street, Miss Rockbell herself swept off the sidewalk in front of her shop.

Smiling to himself, Kimbley ordered a cup of coffee to go and left the café, thinking it was a pity this café wasn't frequented by the officers of the law – the coffee would be better. Well, nothing for that, and he continued on down the street, crossing it after an automobile rumbled past. "Good morning, Miss Rockbell."

She turned, her brilliant smile fading somewhat at the sight of him. "Hello, Mr. Kimbley," she greeted, sounding decidedly cool.

"I brought you a cup of coffee. I'm sorry, I wasn't sure how you took it." He offered her the cup, but her hands tightened on the broom handle, and she didn't take it.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't drink coffee." Her eyes flashed and her chin came up. "Why are you here?"

"I was wondering if you'd given any more thought to my visit the other day. May we go inside and discuss it?"

Miss Rockbell blocked him from the door. "No, Mr. Kimbley, I'm sorry, we will not. You had someone try to beat up a friend of mine."

"I did?" Kimbley arched his brows, removing his hand and laying it against his chest – a mock portrait of innocence. "Surely I would remember if I had done something of that nature."

"You threatened me in my shop, and threatened my friends." Miss Rockbell had a steely glint in her eye. "I guess your enforcer found out why it's not a good idea to mess with us."

"Just because the elder brother is hale and hearty, Miss Rockbell, it doesn't mean the younger is." Kimbley smiled as her eyes widened and her face blanched.

She actually staggered back from the verbal hit, though she regained her balance quickly, taking steps forward to recover what she'd lost, even though Kimbley had made no further move forward. "You stay away from Al," she hissed, anger raising hectic spots of color in her cheeks. The broom raised, almost a threat.

"I," he emphasized the pronoun, "have no reason to go near the boy. At least, if you cooperate, and do what you're told to do."

Her knuckles went bone white as her grip tightened on the broom handle. "I'm not going to give you any money, Mr. Kimbley," she growled. "And you won't do anything to my friends."

Smiling, he pried the lid off the paper coffee cup, pouring the foul, steaming liquid onto the sidewalk in front of her. "Miss Rockbell, as I've implied, I will do nothing to anyone." He crumpled up the cup, tossing it at her feet. "It all lies within you to make sure nothing happens." Kimbley replaced the hat on his head, giving the young woman a mocking little bow. "Think about it."

He turned away from the rage building in her, smiling faintly. "Have a good day, Miss Rockbell, and I hope to see you again, soon." Tucking his hands in his pockets, Kimbley started off the way he'd come. As he passed the café, he thought, perhaps, he might suggest to Father that it needed someone to look into its management.

Surely the neighborhood would applaud a better cup of coffee.


	7. Definitions and Descriptions

**Definitions and Descriptions**

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><p>Kimbley reviewed the files on his desk. Some of them could be put away, his duties with them already accomplished. Some needed further work, and those were set to the left corner of his desk. The green blotter underneath the files had been decorated by some of Envy's handiwork – he fancied himself an artist, though Kimbley was not impressed by juvenile drawings of penises and breasts, despite how Envy had made use of those appendages in his 'art'.<p>

Envy would be the type to go to a museum and graffiti up a classic piece. Kimbley had never invited the man to his own home for just such reason. Between the works he'd collected and the works he'd completed over the years, he didn't trust Envy to not destroy them with his own artistic endeavors.

And he was the one considered a monster for the work he did. Kimbley sighed, shaking his head. He provided a service to the community – the businesses under the Humunculi's protection were kept safe from common thievery. The Homunculi offered safety from break-ins and defacement of the buildings under their protection. And, if payments weren't received for that protection in an certain amount of time, Kimbley took action, using whatever tools were available.

He was no monster. He was an artist, and Miss Rockbell and her store were in desperate need a touch-up.


End file.
